Small towns. Can’t live with them, but apparently, if you live in the USA, you can gather up a ton of guns and shoot the fuck out of them. But that’s a story for another day. Just wanted to let you know that you do have options, if you get really pissed off. Small towns are, for some reason, idealised in many minds. Fortunately, horror writers understand that there aren’t many places more filled with actual horror than small towns. Why is that?
We all know that big cities are places where you go for real ruination. Big cities are where you can get wild on street corners and sell your soul for a bag of heroin. Sounds a lot more interesting than most small towns – that is if you’re a young person in a small town. I’m not sure at what point you cross over from being protected from all the hardcore gossip in a small town. There isn’t a particular coming of age ritual that I’m aware of. Perhaps it’s the first time you hear something truly awful about your own parents, that your small town cherry is popped. That’s the funny thing about small towns where everyone pretends that communal knowledge is somehow a secret because it’s only spoken in whispers, even though every fucking body and his dog knows about it.
When you become an adult in a small town you suddenly become privy to every single sordid detail of every single person’s sex life. Ever wanted to know that the teacher at the local school likes to stick a small, heavily lubed pineapple up his arse during sex? Probably not. But know, you will, whether you want to or not. Ever wanted to have to spend your life not judging a prominent male member (the word member here conjuring up more than one meaning right now) of the community, who has had sexual encounters with men you know, while simultaneously telling everyone at church how wrong it is for all these gays to be demanding equal rights? Well, good luck with that one.
There’s nothing like living in a small town to completely screw you up with the mind altering combination of requiring extreme tolerance for other people’s lies and hypocrisy and an equally extreme dose of being unable to trust a fucking soul? Want to know why? Here’s a metaphorical autopsy of a typical ‘secret’ scenario in a small town:
“Promise you won’t tell a single soul, but I got caught by the police masturbating to a life sized photograph of a mermaid? I paid off the cop with a blow job and he let me go free? You must never tell anyone though. OK?”
“I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but did you hear that she got caught by the police masturbating to a life sized photograph of a flying mermaid and paid off the judge by shitting in his mouth? Promise you won’t tell a soul. OK?”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone this, but she told me that you had been masturbating to a life sized photograph of a goat dressed as a mermaid and then you invited the whole police force to watch. Don’t tell anyone I told you though. OK?”
And so it continues. You’ll find out that your next door neighbour has three anuses, the guy who sweeps the street has a preference for emus, the local DJ has slept with the Catholic priest, the banker has stolen thousands of dollars from the orphanage and the mayor’s wife is actually his biological mother.
Then you’ll have to pass by these people every day and pretend you don’t know these things. You’ll have to go to their birthdays, their weddings, their funerals and all the while try to forget the image that is burned into your head of the dick pic they posted on Grindr, with a request for a shaved man with a Hitler moustache to pee on them, that everyone in town has seen.
That is the nature of small towns and that is why I think we are biologically predisposed to hate small towns when we are a teenager and want to escape. Because if we don’t, we may just hear the truth, or at least the rumours about our own parents and that will fucking scar us for life. Trust me, you don’t ever want to know the truth about your parents’ sex life or even the sex life the community has created in their fertile imaginations. You just don’t.
So, the words today from Badass Auntie are that you should never forget that behind every suburban, small town, corn cob up arse, pious, church going, prayer warrior door is a closet just stuffed full of perverted skeletons. So, unless you really want to know far more than you’ve ever wanted to know about people you have to deal with daily, do everything you can to help them keep those fucking skeletons in those cupboards.
Much love from your Badass Auntie
If you’re a girl in a small town, you’re likely to be labelled a slut at some point. Just know that. There is nothing you can do about it. It will happen. Doesn’t matter if you’re a popular girl, a wild girl or a geek, at some point, you will be called a slut. It’s something to do with being female and the fact that society believes that females are born as demons to tempt boys and men, who, apparently, have absolutely no control of their minds, mouths or penises. It’s the oddest of things. It’s a society that claims that human beings are superior to other species of animal on the planet, while also saying that the male of their species is has no capacity to control, nor responsibility thereof in respect of their sexual urges. So, as a female of the species, it is entirely your responsibility to not ever do anything that their penis might misinterpret as sexy.
This could include any and/or all of the following: showing your shoulder, showing your ankle, calf or thigh, showing your chest and/or cleavage, wearing makeup, direct eye contact, walking, being in possession of buttocks, being in possession of breasts, owning a vagina, existing. Being called a slut in a small town is very different to being called a slut in a big city. Big city girls own it. They respond with ‘Yeah, I’m a slut and you wish you had a piece of this slut, arsewipe.’ Small town girls retreat into their bedrooms, listen to depressing music and believe that their reputation is ruined forever.
Now, if you happened to read the letter I wrote to your brother, you’ll realise that everyone’s reputation is ruined in a small town. So, you’re better off being as slutty as you like. Wear your vagina on your sleeve. Seriously. Get a fucking photo of a vagina and staple it to your sleeve. That will shut them up. The teachers might send you home from school, but being sent home for a cunt sleeve, is much less humiliating than being sent home from school for having a skirt two inches shorter than the school regulation allows. Because we all fucking know that those two inches are the distance between being a crack whore selling bareback rides behind the bus shelter and being a good girl who will never know what a penis looks like. Ever. Because even if a girl like that does get married to a man, she’ll insist on having sex in the dark. A penis, she will never see.
My Badass Auntie wisdom of the day is to never tell anyone anything that you think is a secret. Once more than one person knows, it’s not a secret anymore. It’s a pretty safe bet that if you prefix any statement with ‘don’t tell anyone but…’, plenty of people will know. So, if you’re worried about your reputation, be the master of it. Tell people any shit you want them to think about you. Make stuff up. Tell them you gave the entire sports (I can’t bring myself to say football for cultural reasons) team anal and when you were done with that, you made all the cheerleaders squirt. Do stress, that when you gave the sports team anal, they were the catchers not the pitcher – just to throw in some sexually charged sports confusion in there at the same time. Simply put, spread unthinkable rumours about yourself so that the truth will be boring in comparison. Unless you’re like your Badass Auntie – in which case, the truth is most definitely not boring – but that conversation will happen when I’m in a rocking chair and you are over thirty.
Much love from your Badass Auntie